


Betting Pool

by soucieux



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, M/M, awkward oblivious crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soucieux/pseuds/soucieux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There must be something in the water, because this is typically when one of them <i>demands</i> answers from the other, their voices fervently crescendoing into an argument that descends rapidly into a fistfight until they’re pulled apart, chests heaving. Laps around the field or latrine duty follow. Then dinner. This is their routine at least once a week, so steady and constant that a betting pool revolves around it, with bets placed on what days of the week they will fight, on what they will argue about, on who will win, etcetera. It constitutes an impressive percentage of the training camp economy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betting Pool

“Can you help me with the advanced gear maneuvers?” Eren asks. Jean’s eyes narrow, stepping back as Eren inches closer into his personal space. 

“Please?” Eren _implores_ , and the warning bells in Jean’s brain ring louder and louder. Alert. When Eren Jaeger, aka future killer of all Titans, aka suicidal bastard, aka probably the first of the 104th to die in battle, asks Jean Kirschstein, aka future Military Police member, aka master of the gear, aka the smartest and most handsome member of the 104th, for a favor, then he is, in fact, probably very desperate.

Usually around this time, between afternoon exercises and dinner, Jean and Eren can be found yelling at each other and coming to blows over something or another. Okay, a lot of the time, nothing at all. This completely ordinary request is suspiciously dreadful at best and completely foreboding at worst. Jean wonders if Eren has been talking to Connie and Sasha lately, if maybe their bravado-filled and testosterone-fueled rivalry is going to start including _pranks_ , which he definitely doesn’t need, not with exams fast approaching. He doesn’t have Armin and Mikasa to pick up his slack if he doesn’t study enough because he’s too busy elaborately trying to embarrass Eren in front of the rest of the 104th (he kind of does it enough all by himself, anyway).

Jean is snapped from his _musings_ when he feels Eren’s breath on his face. He instinctively backs up again, mouth cocked into a grimace. He does not want to catch any of Eren’s stupid.

Eren smiles, and blinks once, twice. Does that count as eyelash batting? Jean feels the sudden urge to give him a black eye, left side of his body slowly swinging back for momentum before he catches himself. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and keeps them at his sides. “Why the hell do you need _my_ help?” He finally says. His mouth twists, unimpressed. He has been told that he has the most amazing facial expressions, wears his emotions right on his face the same way he says just what he thinks.

“I don’t _need_ your help. I _want_ your help.” That’s not at all what Jean is getting at, and he’s pretty damn sure Eren knows that.

Jean’s mouth twitches, but he holds his composure. “Ask Mikasa. She’s better.” As much as he hates to admit it, it’s true, and Jean isn’t going to help Eren out of his own volition, anyway. Shadis already takes sadistic pleasure in teaming them up in whatever exercises he can. He will not be spending any more of his extremely valuable time with Eren.

Eren tilts his head. “She’s busy.” 

Jean pokes him hard in the chest, starts to feel fire in his veins (and his cheeks). “That's a load of shit. Mikasa is _never_ too busy for you, and by the way, what the hell’s with the cutesy crap? I don’t know what you’re thinking, but-” He punctuates each word with a poke. “It. Doesn’t. Work. On—”

Eren smacks his hand away. “I’m just asking for your help. _Nicely_.” He crosses his arms and upturns his nose. “So don’t be a jerk about it.” His bigass blue-green eyes are defiant.

Jean opens his mouth to answer. He has so many god damn words for Eren right now, like how he’s the one who started it, how he’s the one acting like a petulant child, how Jean would kill for Mikasa to teach him anything, nevermind look his way, and seriously, what the hell is up with the cutesy shit? Did Eren learn how to socialize with normal humans from Krista?

Jean coughs. And then sighs. And then places his hands on his hips and maybe does a few breathing exercises. Eren looks at him like he’s sprouted three heads but fuck if he cares. Being the bigger man takes a lot of self-control, y’know?

“Okay,” Jean says, catching himself off guard. There must be something in the water, because this is typically when one of them _demands_ answers from the other, their voices fervently crescendoing into an argument that descends rapidly into a fistfight until they’re pulled apart, chests heaving. Laps around the field or latrine duty follow. Then dinner. This is their routine at least once a week, so steady and constant that a betting pool revolves around it, with bets placed on what days of the week they will fight, on what they will argue about, on who will win, etcetera. It constitutes an impressive percentage of the training camp economy. 

“Really?” Eren beams. It’s not something Eren does, beam. Usually his face is unyielding, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes focused solely on whatever prize his mind is set on winning.

“Er, really.” 

Eren’s eyelids droop suddenly, dumbass shit-eating grin erupting on his face. “Good. That’ll show her.”

Jean sputters. “ _What?_ ”

“It’s Mikasa’s birthday next week. ‘m gonna show her I don’t need her protection, y’know?” Eren’s eyes blaze, and Jean _knows_ it’s coming, knows the exact words by heart, just like the rest of the 104th. “I will defeat the Titans. I’m gonna kill _every_ single one of them.” He pauses, eyes focusing on Jean, “I’m not gonna _need_ Mikasa to do it, no matter what she says. So I need you to help me. I want to show her I can stand on my own.” 

Jean snorts. He’s not sure if Eren can function without Mikasa shadowing him, but he _definitely_ knows Eren can’t outmaneuver her. Eren doesn’t look ahead, figuratively or literally. He can only see exactly what’s in front of him, and it slows him down. As far as the gear, those precious fractions of seconds spent correcting mistakes add up. Jean, at least, has a knack for spatial reasoning, knew that even before they took their basic aptitude tests. And Mikasa – Jean’s watched her fly, studied her movements and tried to imitate them, but he can’t. It’s as if her body knows before her mind does. It’s something innate – no. His skills are innate. Hers are _primal_ , beyond what any plebe like he or Eren could ever hope to achieve.

“I’ll try my best.” Definitely something in the water, Jean thinks, if he’s agreeing to this crap. This will steal valuable hours he could use working on his own gear skills or studying for their exams. And he didn’t even _think_ about the biting chill and harsh wind that plagues the training camp in the dead of winter. He regrets agreeing, but he’s a man of his word. Damage done.

“Thank you, Jean.” Jean notices that when Eren smiles too wide, his eyes crinkle at the corners and a deep dimple appears on his right cheek. “It means a lot to me.” He’s definitely learning etiquette from Krista, Ymir probably convincing him to do her chores in exchange.

His newfound sincerity flusters Jean, who can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Oi, oi, Eren. Don’t put so much pressure on me. You barely know your right from your left so I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help, okay?” 

Eren’s smile dissipates, eyes narrowing. “That was _one time_ , and—”

’“That _one time_ fucked up my score. I’m still trying to make up for—”

“Tell me more about your future glorious life behind the walls, horsef—” Jean fists Eren’s shirt and pulls him close. Self-control be damned, Eren is and always will be an annoying shit.

“I am going to beat—”

Eren shoves Jean away. “You started it!” 

“You smiled all cute and shit!” And god dammit, Jean immediately regrets (for the umpteenth time) his inability to keep his damn mouth shut. He’s never been much of a liar, but the shit he manages to spew continues to surprise him in new and embarrassing ways. It doesn’t help that he has trouble wrapping his head around Eren acting kind, and, frankly, _charming_.

Confusion riddles Eren’s face, but he opens his mouth to speak. “I’m sorry? Krista said—”

Jean _knew_ it. “Smile like a flirty girl and thank me profusely? Didn’t know you had a crush on me.” 

“Let me speak.” Eren bristles, He looks Jean straight in the eye. “Even though we argue a lot, you’re second to Mikasa on the gear, so I want your help. I was worried you’d say ‘no’ so I asked Krista how to ask _nicely_.” He pauses. “And that’s just how I smile.”

Make that the umpteenth plus one (whatever number that would be) time that Jean hates his big stupid mouth.

“Uh.” Jean says.

“So.” Eren adds.

“When’s a good time for you? To start your lessons.” Jean shuffles from foot to foot and he’s not sure why the situation is getting more and more awkward. Probably, it’s the civility of it all. Look! Jean and Eren making _plans_! Like they’re setting a _date_! And oh, no, that is not what Jean meant at all. 

“Tonight?”

Jean rolls his eyes. “Eren, seriously—”

Irritation emblazons on Eren’s face. “ _You_ decide then. This is on top of my priority list. If you have more important things to do, _fine_. I’m available _whenever_.” 

“Sorry.” Jean pauses. He needs a moment to collect himself. And stuff.

Eren waits. Patiently, Jean notices, because apparently Eren can be polite and well-mannered and completely respectful when he is serious about something.

Jean exhales. “It’ll be too dark after dinner. Tomorrow, this time.”

Eren beams again, eyes crinkling and dimple showing, tilts his head just so as he lets out a grateful, “Thank you!”

Jean grimaces, face and neck and maybe body completely aflame with embarrassment. “Don’t do that.”

 

 

 

 

That week, Ymir and Krista sweep the betting pool.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be about Jean growing closer to Eren as he learns about Eren's inner misgivings and faults and insecurities but it devolved into an awkward crush fueled by Ymir... 
> 
> Also a Jean-Eren Betting Pool would be ammaaazzzinggg.


End file.
